


For the love you couldn't help was nothing but an illusion

by TheClownsLaugh



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-15 14:35:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19618741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheClownsLaugh/pseuds/TheClownsLaugh
Summary: The CCG decides to question Koutarou on his foster father after Priest has been caught and tries to make him realize certain things about him.





	For the love you couldn't help was nothing but an illusion

“How old are you?” the faceless man asked. Or, rather, he had a face but Koutarou couldn't see it. The lighting was too harsh in the room, the walls were too white and his eyes were too teary.

“I'm twelve, sir,” he answered.

“What's your name?”

“Koutarou.”

“Last name?”

Koutarou thought about it for a second. He considered answering 'Porpora' just like he had to at school during all these years. But it wasn't true, it was just a passing name, a name he borrowed while waiting to be adopted – if he ever was. It hadn't been his case. He had no name. “I don't have one.”

The man paused for a second. Koutarou still couldn't see his face but he guessed he was confused by that answer. He ruffled through the papers he had disposed on the large table then grunted in approval.

“Do you know what happened tonight?”

“You arrested father.”

“Father, huh?” disdainfully muttered the man. “That's right. Do you know why?”

The light was burning Koutarou's eyes. He was searching for the investigator's face, his eyes, but all he could see was a big blob of light. He clenched his teeth. He did not know what to answer. He had some ideas but saying them out loud would only make them more real – and make him an accomplice. He slowly shook his head, knowing that words would only betray the truth.

“He is a ghoul,” the man stated.

“Yes,” blankly said Koutarou. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to react to that...

“So you knew?” The man sounded angry. Maybe he should have stayed silent, after all.

“Yes.” His voice shot higher than his usual tone. He gulped, ready to blame it all on puberty.

“Why didn't you call the ghoul emergency numbers?”

“I didn't know it was a bad thing.” Which wasn't exactly a lie. He knew killing was bad – but being a ghoul wasn't listed in the Bible as a sin, as far as he knew. He decided to add: “And even if I did, we are not allowed to use the phone, so I wouldn't have been able to.”

The man rose from his chair. His hands slammed onto the table, letting his chair creak on the floor and fall. He yelled: “What do you mean you 'didn't know it was a bad thing'? This bastard killed children to eat them and it never occurred to you that-”

He was cut short by a hand on his shoulder.

Koutarou, despite his quickly raising height, made himself really small on his chair.

“That's enough, you're scaring the kid,” another man's voice said. It was deeper, gentler. Less gravelly than father's but still oddly familiar and comforting.

While the man apologized to what was apparently his superior, Koutarou tried to calm his breathing. Father's words kept ringing in his head. " _If they catch you, you are a victim. Never tell them anything else. You are a victim._ ” But he was unable to lie. He had agreed with father, he had taken his part in all this by himself. He had played with the devil and there was no denying that he did. He tried to make his jaw stop trembling, without great success.

The first man exited the room and the second man took his place on the chair. He moved the lamp so it would better light the documents as he read them. It enabled Koutarou to look at him a little. He was young – well not really, but he was younger than Koutarou had expected from his voice so that counted – with a slim face, thin mouth and neatly cut black hair. He then looked up from his papers and right at Koutarou. That's when he could notice his eyes: focused and serious. Yet warm.

He shuddered.

“Koutarou, is it? My name is Urie Mikito, I'm a Special Class Ghoul Investigator and in charge of this operation. Do you understand?”

Koutarou nodded, suddenly as intimidated as when he had encountered the bishop – and he hadn't actually _spoken a word_ to the bishop.

Donato had seen them taking Koutarou out of the basement and into their vehicles while he was only semi-conscious. When they had made him go in the 'special ghouls' vehicle, Donato had managed to grasp the sleeve of the Special Class Bastard that had beat him, and had muttered as he could: “Do not harm the boy. He only did as I said.”

The investigator, whatever was his name, had only spared him one look before knocking him up.

When he woke up, he was in a room so dark and grim that he could only conclude that he was in Cochlea. He sighed. There went his tranquility, huh... And he had no idea what was becoming of Koutarou.

He heard footsteps. Soon after, light was on. But only outside the room he was in. One of the walls, he noticed, was a giant window. Probably everything-proof – and anyway, it wasn't with his cuffed hands and RC-suppressor infested blood that he could do anything to it.

A dark silhouette appeared in the light and sat at what Donato supposed was a chair outside the cell.

“Donato Porpora,” the silhouette started. Man, not yet 30, a bit arrogant, clearly annoyed to be here. Let's do this.

He approached the window and noticed a chair on his side too. Even if he threw it, the window would suffer nothing. It was unlikely for him to ever get out without outside help, then. Oh, well... “That's me,” he answered the investigator, who was reading his file. Most likely single, look at that suit. My, my...

“'Priest',” the man continued without even looking up, “'Clown' – or is it 'Crown'? Ranked SS, took out countless investigators-”

“It was my pleasure, really.”

“-then went under the radar for almost twenty years, opened an orphanage and ate the children.”

“Am I famous?”

“You seem happy about that, you bastard.”

“Well we Clowns quite like famous people, so being one myself is flattering, you see. That's quite the nice place you have here, do you get many guests?”

“One more, now that you're here. The length of your stay will depend on whether or not you want to die.”

“Dying isn't really in my near future plans, no.”

“That's what I thought. So let's get down to business, shall we? If you want to gain your right to live, you will have to give us some piece of information.”

“Easy, then. But let's not haste things, investigator. I just got here, I need some time to acclimate. And more importantly, what kind of host doesn't even give his name?” Donato smiled lazily. He had all the time in the world, now that he was here. They knew he had valuable information – they wouldn't kill him before squeezing it out.

“What do you need it for?”

“Basic decency in a conversation, mostly. Not that you seem to know anything about decent. Do you live with your mother still? Poor, brave woman, having to put up with such a son that can't take care of his appearance or can't even greet his guests properly. Tsk tsk, such bad manners, what a disappointment you must be!”

The investigator had his head in his hands, clearly tired, clearly annoyed, clearly aware that even handcuffed, even on suppressors, Donato would be able to take him out – if it wasn't for that sturdy window.

“I'm investigator Marude. Now back to business-”

“Come one, investigator, I've never been to Tokyo before, let me enjoy this a little more before talking business.”

“You'll have all the time you can earn to enjoy it, Porpora. Now please-”

“One last thing.”

“What, again?” Investigator Marude was clearly annoyed.

“What happened to the boy?”

“Why do you care?”

“Simple curiosity. I eat orphans but I have no idea what you lot do with them.” His smile widened when the investigator avoided his eyes. But really, he had to bite his tongue to prevent himself to say the truth out loud. _He's my son._

“I don't think that's any of your business, really. Now tell me-”

Koutarou could feel the eyes of the investigator on him. Urie, he said. He seemed nice. Trustworthy. He was talking slowly, appeasingly, with some hand gestures, but not too much. Koutarou still had trouble paying attention. His heart he could hear pulsing loudly in his ears obstructed anything else.

“-now do you mind answering some more questions?”

Koutarou gulped nervously and nodded.

“In that basement we found you in, there was a refrigerator. Do you know what was in it?”

“Yes.”

“Were there more children in the orphanage than the ones we found there?”

“No. They were all killed.”

Urie nodded slowly as he wrote down some notes. “Truly,” he muttered, almost to himself, “it's great we found you before anything could happen to you...”

Koutarou frowned and looked up. Straight into the man's dark eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Why do you think you were put in that room?”

_You are a victim you are a victim you are a victim_ , he kept telling himself. “He-he told me he'd teach me how to take care of the meat.” His voice cracked. Half truth. He already knew how to do that, but had been told something similar way back then.

Pity crossed his black eyes as Urie Mikito sighed. “That was a lie, Koutarou,” he said softly, as if not to scare him. “He was about to kill you, just like the other children.”

Without thinking, Koutarou shook his head. Father would never. Or Koutarou would have been killed way before that, back when he had found out. But he couldn't tell that to the investigator. He was a victim, he reminded himself.

“He told me he wouldn't. That he wouldn't harm me.”

Urie gently placed his hand – big, rough, calloused and warm – on Koutarou's. “I know it can be hard to believe, especially if he was being nice to you, but it's how he acted toward all the children he later killed, wasn't it?”

It was. Koutarou looked away.

“He had to find a way to lure them down there, just like he did with you. Thankfully, we came before he could act on you.”

How could he be so sure? How could this investigator claim to know father better than he, his son, did? Father wouldn't. There was no way. Koutarou's finger unconsciously played with the cross at his neck.

“Where is he, now?” he managed to ask. Maybe that wasn't a good idea. Maybe he didn't want to know. What if they had killed him?

“He is in jail.”

Koutarou frowned. “Ghouls go to jail? Wouldn't they just eat the other prisoners?”

Urie smiled gently and explained him Cochlea, the security mesures, the different levels for different threats – Koutarou listened to everything very carefully.

He fidgeted with his cross, all his thoughts clashing inside his head. It was beginning to ache. And it was slowly sinking in that he didn't have a home anymore – nor a father. He shielded himself and looked investigator Urie in the eyes, asking that one burning question.

“How can you be so sure that he was going to kill me?”

Urie sighed and answered: “He told us so. He was questioned when we put him in Cochlea. We asked him 'what can you tell us about that boy?' and he answered that he was about to have some fun with him before eating him.”

His jaw began to shake when he heard those words. In an instant, he remembered how father used to 'play' with his prey. He could see it all again. He just had to put himself into his siblings' place to understand what he had escaped. Their bodies spasming with pain would be his, their screams would be his, their dead eyes disappearing into father's smiling mouth would be his.

He must have been shaking badly because investigator Urie rose up from his chair and wrapped a blanket around him, stroking his back soothingly. He was muttering something Koutarou couldn't hear.

His hands met his face. It was wet. Right, he was crying.

At this realization, he began to audibly sob. He wanted to hold tight to something – someone. He didn't dare touch Urie Mikito. He was just doing his job, he probably wouldn't-

The investigator had embraced him. Koutarou was now crying against his shoulder.

All he could feel was the burning ache in his lungs while he heard the same words again and again and again.

You are a victim.

He didn't know if that was the remnant of father's advice or if that was Urie talking to him.

Couldn't that have been a lie? Father was good at lying. But why would he? He had already been caught, and he had killed all the others, so why not him? Because he called him his son? What kind of reason was that... Ghouls like him were monsters. That was why the CCG existed – to get rid of those monsters. So he was safe, now. Safe. Far from the monster that called himself his father.

Koutarou didn't know what part of this was his own thinking or the whispers in his ear.

His arms were wrapped tightly around Urie as he kept on crying while mindlessly wondering if he would end up in another orphanage.

**Author's Note:**

> I hate myself for writing this.
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading! <3


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